


melt like lemon drops

by tropicalpigeon



Category: OFF (Game)
Genre: M/M, Rating will change, also heavily inspired by some other off fics!, blind!sucre, but instead of a wolf its the bad batter, heavily inspired by heathers, hugo is the batters little brother, i cant remember the titles off the top of my head but i'll add them in later, modern/college au, motorcycle!zacharie, oh my god they were roommates, shits wild, tattoos!zacharie, the batter is pretty much a werewolf, the guardians are professors, the violence isnt really explicit until ch 2/3, there will be some mild smut eventually, zacharie and pablo are roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-16 04:39:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16078616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tropicalpigeon/pseuds/tropicalpigeon
Summary: Everything about the Batter was weird.He was weirdly cold, weirdly unafraid, weirdly monotone, weirdly emotionless, weirdly weird. When Zacharie learned that he was the one behind all the murders on campus, that should've been a red flag, should've been a sign to get the hell out of Dodge before it was too late.It wasn't.





	1. alpha

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to hell!
> 
> I know the Off fandom has been dead for years at this point, but I just remembered that Off exists and I remembered how much I love Batterie and I had the idea for a weird Heathers-esque AU so here we are. Tattoos!Zacharie and Motorcycle!Zacharie are lovingly taken from some designs on Mortis Ghost's Redbubble. (And a lot of the characterizations are based off of the 10th Anniversary Stream commentary!)
> 
> Thanks for reading!

“Well, if it isn’t my mysterious, disappearing roommate.”

 

Zacharie rolled his eyes and took the seat next to Pablo, placing his very full mug of coffee on the desk and shrugging off his backpack. “You didn’t need me to help you move in, you had Valerie!” he protested half-heartedly, grinning behind his mask. It was the first day of the fall semester, and Pablo, one of his closest friends, had been pestering him to help him move into their shared dorm room for the past two weeks.

 

“Forgive me for casting aspersions on your character, but I’m sure you’re well aware that, although I love my dear twin brother, Valerie, he’s so frail he could barely pick up any of the boxes.”

 

“You didn’t even have that many boxes, anyway,” grumbled Zacharie, running a hand through his bedhead. Normally, it was about a week, two weeks until his visage began to match how apathetic he was internally, but he had already given up on looking presentable, throwing on a heart t-shirt and gray joggers before sprinting out of the dorm to avoid being late.

 

Pablo chuckled. “Don’t blame me for your own hoarderistic tendencies.” His piercing eyes dragged up and down his roommate’s body, and he quirked an eyebrow. “Your shoe’s untied.”

 

“Whatever.” Zacharie leaned down to tie the laces of his combat boot, but not before taking a huge swig of coffee. “I don’t understand how you’re able to have an eight a.m. class.” Somehow, despite having been awake since six-thirty, Pablo was as immaculately put-together as always; tidy hair, a white button-up, and khakis showed off his composure and eye for fashion, making Zacharie’s almost monochromatic outfit look drab by comparison. Zacharie liked for the emphasis to be on his mask and full sleeves of tattoos anyway—at least he didn’t have to worry about how his face looked every day.

 

“Perseverance,” was Pablo’s laconic reply.

 

“More like masochism,” Zacharie laughed, and the professor began to speak. He droned on with a voice like nails on chalkboard, first introducing himself as Dr. Dedan, and then going on to explain the scope of the course, World History. The professor was an intimidating man, tall and imposing, with a huge trench coat and pants that looked straight from World War I. His voice was just as stern as his demeanor, and he pointed to the board with knobby, too-long fingers. He gave Zacharie the creeps.

 

Twenty minutes of lightly dozing later, the sound of the door being opened grabbed his attention. In the doorway stood a mysterious figure, tall, dark, and handsome, clad in a baseball cap and a tight black shirt. Zacharie craned his neck to get a good look at him, and was surprised at his good looks.

 

“You’re late,” screeched Dedan, pointing at him with a long, gangly, accusatory finger.  _ This will be interesting, _ thought Zacharie.

 

“Okay,” the student replied, face cool and emotionless. Zacharie, intrigued by the pure tenacity of this mystery man, couldn’t help but snicker.

 

Dedan glared at the man, and the classroom felt like an old Western standoff, a battle of authority. His eyes narrowed, and he looked down at his attendance sheet. “You must be Michael Batler.”

 

“It’s Batter. Call me the Batter.” The guy—the Batter—remained completely unaffected, as if he wasn’t immediately challenging the authority of a professor he’d have all semester. Zacharie admired his chutzpah, even if it was a little unfounded and dumb..

 

“...Take a seat before I kick you out,  _ Batter _ ,” spat Dedan, gesturing at an empty seat.

 

Surprisingly, or perhaps not, the closest empty seat is the one next to Pablo, and the Batter makes his way there in three long strides. Pablo offers a greeting as he silently takes the seat, and gives Zacharie a  _ do you see this guy? _ look when he doesn’t acknowledge him. “I see you’re not much of a talker,” Pablo mumbles, half to himself. The Batter nods. Zacharie snorts as quietly as possible as Dedan resumed his talk about the syllabus.

 

For the rest of the one-hour-and-fifteen-minute-class, Zacharie couldn’t keep his eyes off the Batter, or his mind, for that matter. He had pristine, abnormally pale skin, especially considering the baseball bat poking out of his backpack, and inky black hair. He seemed athletic, judging by the sheer musculature of his form, and his clothes were unnaturally perfect; the black long-sleeved shirt that clung to his chest, the unmarred white jeans, and the black combat boots created a feeling of austerity. The most unnerving thing about him, though, wasn’t the inhumanly pale skin or the perfection of his outfit; no, it was his eyes, so light gray they were almost white, equal parts alluring and terrifying. The fleeting seconds he and Zacharie made eye contact made Zacharie’s insides contort with the feeling of being examined, or inspected under a microscope. The most interesting thing about him, though, was by far his demeanor. The blatant disrespect combined with a cool aloofness left Zacharie wanting—no,  _ needing _ —to know more.

 

Who was this guy, and why was he so  _ awesome _ ?

 

As soon as class ended, the Batter immediately left, not waiting to take out a phone or lanyard or pack anything up like the rest of the students around him. “Do you have any idea what’s up with him?” whispered Zacharie, despite the fact that he was already long gone.

 

“I haven’t the faintest,” replied Pablo, tucking his textbook under his arm and standing. “I just hope he’s good with history.”

 

⭗⭗⭗

 

Zacharie’s next class was theology, with professor Japhet. He was a shrewd, birdlike man with a hooked nose and a nasally voice that somehow managed to get on Zacharie’s nerves even more than Dedan’s. Thankfully, he shared the class with Sucre, his best friend since childhood. They talked meaninglessly for a few minutes before class started, catching up and updating each other on the state of their lives. He had missed talking to Sucre; they drifted apart after high school, since she took a gap year in France. She had changed, but also not—almost as if she became a more concentrated version of herself. Now she wore a cropped tank top, no bra, a long bob with bangs that obscured her eyes, black lipstick, and a bomber jacket that Zacharie recognized as one of his from a few years ago. She was just as beautiful as he remembered and twice as fashionable.

 

“We should go out for coffee sometime, froggy,” Sucre suggested, twirling a lock of platinum-blonde hair between fingers with chipping black nail polish.

 

Zacharie chuckled upon remembering that childish nickname— _ froggy _ . The word brought back memories of playing in puddles back in New York, with bright yellow rain boots and the feeling of raindrops on his face. Before the accident. 

 

Before the mask. Before she went blind.

 

Following Japhet around like a shadow was Valerie, Pablo’s twin brother. His shoulders seemed eternally hunched up to his ears, and his hands were always fidgeting and nervous, worrying at the hem of his shirt or his fingernails or his hair. He was far more unkempt and unstable than Pablo; his button-up was already coming untucked and the sweater vest he had on over it was cockeyed. While he shared Pablo’s too-big eyes, he rarely smiled, and his faint eyebrows seemed perpetually upturned, giving him the appearance of a worried Tim Burton character.

 

As soon as class started, Japhet introduced his TA, Valerie, and he looked like a deer in headlights at suddenly having the spotlight turned to him. He ran a hand through his hair and waved pensively, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. Zacharie felt bad for him—having known Pablo (and Valerie, by association) since freshman year of high school, he was sure that Valerie was miserable. 

 

Zacharie decided that he hated Japhet.

 

He noticed the guy from his first class, the Batter, sitting far away on the other side of the room. His face remained still the entire class, never showing a hint of emotion. His light eyes met Zacharie’s from across the room, and Zacharie quickly averted his gaze, hoping the Batter didn’t notice.

 

After class ended, Sucre pressed a warm hand to Zacharie’s forearm, running a finger along one of his tattoos, the one of a swan. “Text me soon, okay, froggy?”

 

“Anytime, sugar,” grinned Zacharie from behind his mask. 

 

⭗⭗⭗

 

The first week passed like this: quiet stares from behind a frog mask, laughing just under audible level of the professors, and long nights of procrastination. In just seven days, the pristine dorm room Pablo and Zacharie shared became a war zone—Pablo’s side was perfectly clean, while clutter from Zacharie’s side spilled over into every crack of the room. Items of varying levels of value were littered everywhere: trinkets, souvenirs from old trips, framed photos of Zacharie, Pablo, and Sucre from years past, empty coffee cups and Chinese takeout boxes, half-clean mugs and plates, vaguely dirty laundry, even pens and pencils. Zacharie half-heartedly apologized for the mess and promised he’d clean it, and Pablo’s judgemental eyes narrowed.

 

“I’ll clean after I get back, I promise,” Zacharie assured Pablo as he slipped on a pair of shoes.

 

Pablo pulled the screen of his laptop down just enough to peer at him over the top. “After you get back? Where are you going? Could it be that my festering recluse of a roommate finally made a friend other than myself?”

 

“Wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, Pablo,” Zacharie hissed with a smile. “It’s just Sucre. We’re going out for coffee, wanna come?”   
  


Pablo closed his laptop all the way, rising and stretching like a cat. “Well, I have been known to partake in drinks of a most caffeinated nature.” Zacharie raised an eyebrow at him, and although he couldn’t see it, Pablo sighed. “That means yes.”

 

After an uneventful motorcycle ride, Zacharie and Pablo entered the small cafe in the library, surprised to find Sucre already sitting at a table with a no doubt sugary frappuccino in front of her. The pair ordered and took the remaining two seats at the table. “ _ Bonjour _ , froggy. Who’s this with you?” she asked, taking a sip of her drink.

 

“It’s a pleasure you see you again, my sweet,” Pablo greeted, his too-big smile evident in his voice.

 

“Oh, you didn’t tell me kitty was coming! Give me a hug right this instant, mister!” she gasped, reaching across the table. Pablo wrapped an arm around her tightly, whispering something in her ear that made her giggle. She pulled back, holding both his hands in hers. “How’re your classes going? I bet you think they’re so easy.”

 

Zacharie stood to retrieve their drinks, glad to see his friends reunited. Just like old times. This was going to be a good semester, he could feel it.

 

When he sat back down and handed Pablo his drink, the conversation topic had shifted. “Yes, he’s directly across from us in History—Zacharie, do you have any pertinent information on that Batter fellow?” Pablo asked, reaching for a straw.

 

Zacharie felt flustered; had Pablo caught him staring somehow? “No, why?”

 

“He’s in my English Lang class. He’s a weird ducky, that’s for sure,” Sucre said. “He gives off a bad vibe, I think.” She shivered a little.

  
Zacharie pondered this for a second. Sucre’s vibe readings were rarely incorrect, but he thought the Batter was pretty cool. Admirable, even. Pablo voiced his thoughts, saying, “Really? I feel as if he’s of an interesting character, if a bit quiet. What do you think, Zacharie?”

 

He shrugged as nonchalantly as he could, having been given some serious food for thought. “I’ve never spoken to the guy.”

 

⭗⭗⭗

 

Zacharie caught glimpses of him in the hallway, stone-faced and carrying his metal bat as always. He saw him once he stopped at a red light on his way to the dorm, foot grazing the ground to steady his motorcycle as he gaped at him, walking down the sidewalk and flipping his signature black cap a couple of times to cool off. His attention only turned back to the road when the car behind him began to honk, and he remembered he was riding his motorcycle. He floored it.

 

⭗⭗⭗

 

The following Monday, Dedan assigned partners for a project on early civilizations, spitting instructions like venom. Zacharie found his heart was in his throat by the time he reached him, and he eagerly awaited his assignment. “Zacharie… and Pablo,” Dedan called, and he felt himself deflate. Why was he disappointed?

 

⭗⭗⭗

 

Zacharie made himself comfortable on his rock-hard mattress, surrounding himself in cozy blankets and pillows. He opened his calculus notebook and laptop to begin his homework, but he found something was missing: music.

 

He reluctantly untangled himself from the sheets and walked to his old stereo, a boombox from the early 00’s, and pressed the play button, fiddling with the tuner. He looked at Pablo to gauge his permission, and he nodded. He finally reached an acceptable radio station, and Zacharie took that as his cue to sit back down, nestling back into the mass of soft material as if he never left.

 

The song that had been playing ended, and the voice of the host came on the speaker.  _ “...Police say a body was found mangled and beyond recognition. The killing was visceral to the point where authorities are wondering if it was an escaped lion or bear from the zoo. The victim has not yet been identified due to the disfiguring, but appears to be a young adult female from the college...” _

 

Pablo piped up from where he was reading in his bed. “Turn that off,” he said. Zacharie threw a pillow at the radio, successfully pushing the play button back in and silencing it, and put in his earbuds reluctantly.   
  


⭗⭗⭗

 

Wednesday. World History with Dedan. A long, boring hour and fifteen minutes of doodling on important papers and zoning out. 

 

Class ended, and Zacharie was determined to get out the door—maybe if he was fast enough, he could grab something to eat in the food court on the way to his next class. Before he could leave, though, the sound of Dedan’s voice cut his ear drums. “Zacharie, come here.”

 

Zacharie froze, and Pablo shot him a sympathetic look. “Yes?” he mumbled, turning to face his captor.

 

Dedan’s beady eyes focused on Zacharie, and he began to speak. “It appears as if Mr. Batler’s partner for this project has been… compromised, so he is without a partner. He’s going to join your group for the time being. I advise you communicate.”

 

Zacharie felt his heart pound in his ears. Huh. Interesting. Cool. Fun. Nice. The Batter was his new partner in the group project. The Batter, the weird dude in his history and theology classes, who Sucre gets a bad vibe from, who he thinks is kind of attractive, the silent baseball player, was his new partner in the group project. This could be his chance to get to know this mystery man better. “Okay,” he squeaked, before returning to the door where Pablo was waiting for him to break the news. 

 

“Cool. Having a third person will be helpful,” remarked Pablo.

 

“Yeah,” Zacharie whispered, distracted, as he watched the Batter push open the door from across the room. 

 

⭗⭗⭗

 

Zacharie didn’t sleep well that night.

 

⭗⭗⭗

 

Two days later, it’s Friday, and that meant World History again. When Zacharie walked into class, he was surprised to find Pablo and the Batter talking, and Pablo was smiling. He pulled up a chair and sat in it backwards, ignoring the twisting feeling in his gut and forcing a nonchalant demeanor. “What’s up,  _ amigos _ ? Hard at work on the project?”

 

Pablo laughed, and Zacharie’s gaze was drawn to the phone in the Batter’s hand. “We’re exchanging information for future contact.”

 

The Batter looked up at him, face blank, and held out his phone. “Put your number in,” he said, his monotonous and deep voice sending a chill down Zacharie’s spine. He thanked the stars for the porcelain mask that hid his face. He entered his phone number with shaky thumbs, the Batter’s icy eyes trained on his toadlike face, and handed it back to him. The Batter nodded silently.

 

“Are you available tomorrow afternoon? We were considering meeting in our place of residence to begin our efforts,” Pablo asked, and Zacharie realized he was talking to him. When did Pablo and the Batter become so chummy? When Zacharie didn’t reply, he rolled his eyes. “I’ll order pizza.”

 

“I’m in.” Even though Zacharie had a mask on, the grin could be heard in his voice.

 

The Batter scoffed before asking, “Your name?”

 

Zacharie simply looked at him for a moment before becoming flustered. “Oh, I never introduced myself! Where are my manners? I’m Zacharie.” He extended his hand, and the Batter shook it roughly. His hand was so cold.

 

“I’m the Batter.”

 

“Yes, I know.” He saw a brief flash of emotion cross the Batter’s face before leaving just as fast as it came on. Interesting.

 

Just as Zacharie opened his mouth to speak again, Dedan entered the room, yelling for everyone to sit down and shut up. Zacharie pushed his seat back to where it was supposed to be and pulled out his notebook, heart still thumping. His phone vibrated with a text from an unknown number that simply had the letter _X_. His eyes darted up to meet the Batter’s.

 

⭗⭗⭗

 

Then, it was Saturday. Zacharie speedwalked back to his dorm after grabbing lunch at the Japanese place on campus, oddly excited. He figured this a side effect of his naturally curious character and tried not to dwell on it too much. He was the first one back to the dorm, hastily cleaning the dirty laundry strewn about his side of the room and fixing his fatally unfixable hair. He pulled a comb through it, ran his hands through it, mussed it with his fingers, all to no avail. Looking in the mirror, he took off his too-hot sweater in favor of a deep red tank top, eager as always to show off his tattoos.

 

The tattoos were only partially cosmetic. When he first had the idea to cover his burn scars with tattoos at the age of fifteen, Sucre and Pablo jumped at the opportunity to help him choose what designs would adorn his arms permanently. He had some of their pencil sketches immortalized, although they were much smaller than the professionally-designed ones; a little cartoon frog on his wrist a la Sucre and an anatomically-accurate heart above his elbow from Pablo. The rest were a collage of his life up until his eighteenth birthday, since that was the date of the first session; a carousel from the fair he and Sucre visited every year when they were younger, the stray cat Pablo quote-unquote “adopted” and affectionately nicknamed The Judge, a star from all the times he, Pablo, and Valerie would go stargazing, and Valerie would point out every constellation... it was a tapestry of his life, and he was probably a little too proud of it.

 

He made sure his frog mask was perfectly situated on his face, tying the string taut, and he flinched when he heard his phone ring. “Pablo?”

 

“Greetings, Zacharie. My deepest condolences, but it appears as if I’m… out of commission for today. My dear Valerie has contracted pneumonia, or so it appears, and I’m currently sitting in the emergency room with him.” A faint cough could be heard from the other end. “Again, I apologize, but he absolutely requires my assistance.”   
  


“Of course, Pablo! Please, take good care of him. I’ll work on the project with the Batter, don’t worry.” 

 

“Thank you, friend. I must go, a nurse is calling his name. Talk to you later,” Pablo whispered, and the line went dead. Zacharie threw his phone down on the bed and looked up at the ceiling. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence—Valerie had a notoriously horrible immune system, and he was seemingly always sick—but it couldn’t have come at a more inconvenient time. Now, he’d be alone with the Batter, which, while exciting, was nerve-wracking. 

 

A single loud knock on the door—speak of the devil. Zacharie scrambled to open the door, immediately summoning his chill façade. “ _ Buenos días _ , Batter. Did you hear about Pablo?” 

 

“Yes,” was his one-word reply.

 

“It’ll just be us today, I’m afraid. Come, sit down, I’m brewing some coffee if you want it.” The Batter simply nodded before stepping inside, and Zacharie noticed just how tall he was. Zacharie wasn’t particularly short, but the Batter simply had an imposing frame. He pulled Pablo’s chair from his desk and sat down, dropping his black backpack at his feet. As he did this, Zacharie fussed over the coffee pot, more than happy to have something for his nervous fingers to focus on. “How do you take your coffee?”

 

“Black.” Zacharie poured two cups, filling his own with an obscene amount of sugar before handing the black one to the Batter. He blew on it for a few minutes to let it cool, while the Batter immediately began drinking, seemingly unphased by the heat. To blow on and drink his coffee, Zacharie had to quickly and surreptitiously pull the mask up a tad while angling his head down to keep his mouth covered while allowing access to his mug. They sat like that for a few minutes in silence, just sipping their coffee. As Zacharie reached for his backpack to pull out his binder, the Batter finally spoke. “Why do you wear the mask?”

 

Zacharie flinched for the second time that day, pulling his hand back from his bag as if he were burned. Quickly recomposing himself, he touched his mask self-consciously. “Isn’t it a bit soon to ask such questions?” he chuckled, crossing one ankle over his knee and laying against the back of his chair, peering at the Batter curiously. Was he as intriguing to the Batter as he was to him?

 

The Batter only shrugged silently in response.

 

Zacharie took a long sip of his coffee, letting the silence marinate. “Why are  _ you _ so quiet?”

 

“Why do you talk more than necessary?” came the scathing remark with no real aggression behind it.

 

“Touché,” laughed Zacharie. “Why do you always carry around that bat?”

 

“I play baseball.”

 

“Why do you go by ‘the Batter’?”

 

“It’s a nickname from grade school that stuck. Now, will you answer my question?” the Batter said, irritation showing in his voice.

 

His eyes pierced straight through Zacharie’s mask as he pondered for a while. “Hmm. No. Maybe eventually. But not now. You don’t know me well enough.”

 

The Batter’s cool guise faltered for a millisecond, letting frustration peek through before he steeled himself again and took another drink of his coffee. “How can I know you well enough?”

 

Zacharie shook his head, chuckling under his breath, and his eyes peered up at the Batter from behind the mask of intrigue. “Why are you so persistent,  _ amigo _ ?”

 

The Batter shrugged, finishing his coffee and refusing to make eye contact. Zacharie’s eyes were drawn to his Adam’s apple as it bobbed. “Just curious.”

 

They worked on the project with no further incident.

 

⭗⭗⭗

 

Pablo was still missing from class on Monday, so the Batter must have taken that as an invitation to sit next to Zacharie. Zacharie picked at his fingernails, worried about Valerie. Normally, he didn’t need Pablo to miss class to stay by his side, but then again, normally he didn’t go to the emergency room, either.

 

He’s thrown out of his reverie by the feeling of a folded-up piece of paper hitting his bare elbow, just below where the sleeve of his sweater is rolled up. His posture straightened, and his eyes darted to the Batter. The Batter was facing forward, with no indication that he gave him the note. He cautiously unfolded it and read the neat handwriting. “ _ Why the tattoos? _ ” He scoffed, immediately recognizing that it was, in fact, the Batter who passed him the note. He scrawled a quick response of “ _ because they’re cool, duh _ ” and slipped it back to him before Dedan could see.

 

Zacharie could feel the Batter looking at him, but he didn’t dignify him with any acknowledgement. The Batter crumpled the note, and Zacharie could see his jaw set.

 

⭗⭗⭗

 

After class, Zacharie was surprised to feel his phone vibrate. It was a text from Sucre, asking him to grab a bite to eat with her. He gladly obliged, and after a five-minute motorcycle ride, he entered the cafe where Sucre was waiting. He sat across from her and said, “Hey, Sucre.”

 

She perked up and smiled as soon as she heard him. “Nice to see you, my little froggy. How’s kitty and Valerie?”

 

Zacharie drummed his fingers on the table. “I don’t know. Pablo hasn’t responded to any of my texts.”

 

She hummed and looked out the window, her hair inadvertently parting so he could see her eyes. The burn marks reached all the way across her eyes from ear to ear, and tickled up to her hairline. Her eyes were a cloudy blue, and he wondered how her vision was. He still remembered how she had cried and cried and cried when she opened her eyes and nothing came to her. Her fingers played with the handle of her white cane. He still felt guilty.

 

“Did you hear? Another person—another college student—was maimed to death yesterday. They haven’t been able to identify the body, but it was found just off campus. Creepy, huh?”

 

Zacharie nodded distantly. “Yeah, it is.”

 

⭗⭗⭗

 

Zacharie left the cafe for the dorms, relishing the feeling of the wind catching his body as he rode down a long street. He passed by the baseball diamond, and a figure in his periphery caught his eye. He caught a glimpse of a black cap and white clothes, and he pulled into the parking lot on an impulse.

 

“Baseball season doesn’t begin until next semester, Batter,” he stated, just loud enough for him to hear.

 

He turned around and saw him, a slight grin cracking his face in half. A rare sight, indeed. “Hello, Zacharie. What brings you here?” The machine a few yards ahead spat a baseball at him, and he hit it with a loud smack.

 

Zacharie simply shrugged, dragging his boot across the dirt to make an X. “I saw some lunatic out on the baseball diamond at six p.m. on a Friday evening, so I came to investigate.”

 

“I’m of the mindset that you can never be too practiced.”

 

Smack.

 

“I can see that.”

 

Smack.

 

“Why are you on campus so late?”

 

Smack.

 

“I was getting dinner with an old friend.” Zacharie watched him as he swung the bat with precise movements, his muscles rippling under his tight shirt and sweat dripping down his temple. It was oddly hypnotizing; something about the repetition and the perfection of every hit, perfectly on the ball, making it fly in the exact same direction. “I probably should be getting back to the dorm soon, though, what with all the vicious animal attacks at night lately.”

 

“Yes, that’s true.” The Batter walked forward and turned off the machine. He took off his hat, revealing short hair as black as ebony. Zacharie swallowed and looked away, thankful for his mask and shifting on his feet. The Batter took a long swig from his water bottle, grabbing his bag and beginning to walk away.

 

“Did you walk here?” Zacharie queried, following close behind.

 

A brisk nod.

 

“Hey, I can give you a ride, if you want one.”

 

The Batter stopped and turned to face his pursuer, seemingly thinking it over. “...that would be much appreciated.” Zacharie grinned under his mask and led him to where he parked, the only vehicle in the lot. He unlocked his helmet and handed it to the Batter. “Oh, you drive a motorcycle,” he said quietly.

 

A smirk that the Batter couldn’t see. “Is that a problem?”

 

“No.” He took the helmet and replaced his cap with it. “Where’s your helmet?”

 

Zacharie shrugged. “I normally only bring one, unless I’m planning on having company. I can do without.” He climbed on and felt the motorcycle rock as the Batter climbed on behind him. He quirked an eyebrow when the Batter sat far behind him without touching him. “ _ Amigo _ , you’re gonna want to hold on tight.”

 

“Right.” He scooted forward, and his cold body pressed against his back, his cold arms wrapping around his abdomen and reinforcing the closeness. Zacharie shivered and wondered how a man who was just vigorously exercising could be as cool as bone. Everything about the Batter was slightly...  _ off _ .

 

“Which dorm?”

 

“O.”

  
“Okay, hold on,” Zacharie said, hand already twisting the throttle. When the bike jerked and accelerated, he felt those freezing hands tighten in the fabric of his sweater and he couldn’t help but smile. That was how everybody reacted when they rode with him for the first time—odd as he was, the Batter was still human.

 

They reached the dorm as the sun began to set, bathing the dorm in golden purple light. “Have a nice night, Batter.”   
  


“You too,” the Batter replied after removing the helmet and handing it to him. Once the Batter disappeared inside, he quickly swapped the mask for the helmet, pushing the mask down and backwards until it rested against the nape of his neck. He took the long way back to the F dorm where he and Pablo resided, looking at the stars that just barely twinkled into view.

 

As soon as he got back to the dorm, he got settled in to do homework, which included turning on the radio. Pablo was still gone. Hopefully the sounds of the radio would make him feel less alone.

 

_ “Breaking news—another mauling, this time near the O dorm. This time, the body was identifiable: it was Coach Enoch, the coach of the baseball team. The motive and murderer are still a mystery, and Dean Eloha advises all students to stay in their dorm after sundown…” _

 

“Shit, the O dorm? I hope he got in safe…” Zacharie mumbled, before the songs resumed and he started work on a calculus worksheet.


	2. omega

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rating got bumped up to M due to the smut scenes in this chapter, so beware. Also, if unhealthy relationships make you uncomfortable, this could be a hard thing for you to read. This chapter was really fun to write though!
> 
> Enjoy!

“Didja get a boyfriend yet, froggy?”

 

Zacharie couldn’t help but snort his coffee, groaning at the unpleasant feeling of coffee in his sinuses. “Jesus, Sucre,” he moaned, bringing a napkin up to his nose behind the mask. “You have to warn me before you ask shit like that.”

 

Sucre tilted her head, her lips pursing. “It’s a simple question,” she teased with her saccharine sweet voice. “You’re a sweet, single guy in college with a motorcycle and two sleeves of tattoos, and you weren’t too hideous the last time I saw you.”

 

“The last time you saw me, I was seven,” Zacharie chuckled, taking a much more careful sip of coffee.

 

Sucre made a noncommittal hand gesture. “Irrelevant. So, have any cute boys in mind?”

 

Zacharie shrugged, feeling his face flush. “Not quite. There’s…” He remembered her comments about the Batter, and reconsidered his sentence. “...a guy in my History class, maybe.”

 

She suddenly became deathly serious and leaned over the table, resting on her elbows to whisper. “Is it Pablo?”

 

He burst into laughter and shoved her backwards with a palm to her shoulder. “Oh my God, shut  _ up _ .”

 

⭗⭗⭗

 

Zacharie made a mental note that morning coffee runs with Sucre were a bad idea as he sat in his seat for World History, retrieving his supplies from his backpack silently next to the Batter.

 

Much to his surprise, Pablo entered just thirty seconds before class was to start, completely frazzled. His normally perfect hair was sticking up everywhere like cat ears, and his big eyes had dark bags under them. “Sorry for my unintended leave of absence, compatriots. I fear that my brother has grown ill and requires my assistance, but I made it to class today,” he puffed; obviously he had ran to class.

 

“I’m glad you did, Pablo. We got some solid work done on the project, too, so I wouldn’t feel too guilty about abandoning us,” reassured Zacharie, rubbing his shoulder gently.

 

Pablo’s sleep-deprived eyes met his. “Trust me, I have no sense of guilt. If attendance wasn’t a grade in this class, I surely wouldn’t be gracing you with my presence right now.” 

 

Zacharie wasn’t too surprised at the venom in his voice—he definitely looked stressed. He had half a mind to ask about Valerie’s condition, but he got the feeling that that was a horrible idea. Instead, he picked a topic that likely wouldn’t strike a chord. “Did you hear about Coach Enoch? Fucking brutal.”

 

“Yeah,” the Batter said. “Weird.”

 

Zacharie caught his gaze lingering on the Batter for too long, and Sucre’s dumb coffee table palaver came back to the front of his mind. He wondered what the Batter’s comments meant, back at the dorm room. His curiosity about the mask and the tattoos. He rubbed at his skin, circling the one of a baseball bat (he was in Little League for one fateful summer), and he considered. The Batter hadn’t shown any interest in any other people, he didn’t think, so what did that mean? Maybe he  _ could  _ ask him out. If it got awkward, he could say it was a friend thing.

 

The issue with wanting to court a guy like the Batter was that he was so  _ off _ . He didn’t know how he would react to anything, and if he did predict his response, he’d almost always be wrong. By the time he finished daydreaming, class was over, and he grabbed the Batter’s elbow before he could leave on a complete impulse. “Don’t go so fast, friend. I wanted to ask you something.”

 

“Yes?” stated the Batter, his voice as cool as ever.

 

Well. Now or never.

 

“Would you like to go somewhere with me?” His heart pounded in his ears. What the fuck was he  _ doing _ ?

 

A pause. Then, the corner of the Batter’s mouth quirked up. “Yes.”

 

A flood of dopamine and relief flooded Zacharie’s veins, overwhelming his senses and making his bones go to jelly. “Meet me in the library at seven.”

 

The Batter nodded and left, and maybe his eyes were tricking him, but Zacharie could’ve sworn he saw a spring in his step.

 

Pablo looked at him out of the corner of his eye and quirked an eyebrow, an all-knowing, shit-eating grin on his face. “Don’t say a  _ thing _ ,” mumbled Zacharie, pulling at his mask subconsciously.

 

⭗⭗⭗

 

“Where are we going?”

 

“You’ll see.”

 

Zacharie led the Batter up a flight of stairs, then another, then another. He was surprised, but also not surprised at all, when the Batter unflinchingly followed him without asking where they were going until they were a few flights up. They finally reached the top, and a door with a keypad waited. He uncrumpled a piece of paper from his pocket and punched in the numbers, and the door clicked open.

 

The Batter wordlessly looked at him for an explanation as he held the door open. “Valerie—Pablo’s brother—used to be a librarian last semester, so he has access to all areas of the library via his ID number. Including the roof, for some reason. I wrote down his ID number, and now I come up here every once in a while when I want to clear my head,” Zacharie explained sheepishly. “Go on, we don’t have all day,” he nudged, when the Batter didn’t immediately walk outside.

 

The Batter finally walked through, and Zacharie closed the door, letting it lock behind him. The Batter stood tall in the middle of the roof, letting the breeze hit his face. Zacharie walked past him and sat on the edge of the roof, and he let his feet hang over, kicking his feet slightly as he took in the view.

 

The sun was just beginning to kiss the horizon, dousing the sky in the early dredges of sunset. Yellow and orange watercolor filled the sky almost poetically, bathing the buildings in orange creamsicle. Zacharie never could get used to this view. “The city’s beautiful at dusk, isn’t it?”

 

A simple nod from the Batter as he walked forward to sit next to him. 

 

They simply talked for a while, not touching, no pressure, just conversation, as they watched the sun set. The conversation wandered from Valerie to Pablo to Japhet (“He’s such an asshole! I would switch out of his class, but I have friends in that class.” “Huh.”) to homework and back to the sunset.

 

“You mentioned you come out here sometimes. Why?” the Batter asked, in his typical blunt fashion.

 

Zacharie sat, looking down at his feet and the vast fall to the ground. “This will sound really weird, but sometimes it feels like I’m in some kind of simulation, or a video game or something. Like nothing’s real. But sunsets like this… they help me feel more alive, if that makes sense.”

 

“I understand.”

 

A beat.

 

The Batter turned to face Zacharie, and his hands caught Zacharie’s eyes as they reached up to his mask, running a thumb along the cool porcelain. “Woah there,  _ amigo _ , hands off the merchandise,” Zacharie chuckled nervously, reaching up to push his hand away and resting his hand on the Batter’s freezing cold one. To his surprise, the Batter not only kept his hand there, but he began to lift the mask. Zacharie tried to skitter away reflexively, pleading, “Batter, seriously, don’t—”, but stopped when he realized the mask had stopped lifting at the bottom of his nose. His vision was blocked now, and his breath hitched.

 

He could feel cold breath on his slightly opened mouth, and when the mouth didn’t move forward, he realized that he was asking for permission in a very silent, very Batter way.

 

“...No peeking,” he whispered, before seeing the Batter’s eyes flutter shut and closing the gap. Scarred lips met pristine ones under the light of the dying sun, and the chaste kiss quickly turned passionate. Zacharie was surprised to find that not only did the Batter have  _ very _ sharp canines, but he had no qualms with using them. 

 

One kiss turned to two turned to many, and the sun set behind them as they fell to the floor, with the Batter pinning Zacharie to the ground with one strong forearm. Ice cold hands traveled up a thick white sweater, and flaming hot hands tangled their fingers in inky black hair, and lungs contracted, and eyelashes flew as eyes opened and closed.

 

The Batter abruptly pulled away, leaving Zacharie leaning forward to chase after his mouth. He pulled his shirt back down from where it was rucked up and returned his hat to its rightful place atop his head, turning with more emotion in his face than Zacharie had ever seen before. “I have to leave, I have to leave, I have to leave,” he mumbled to himself, stumbling to the elevator on wobbly legs.

 

“Leaving so soon?” purred Zacharie, re-adjusting his mask to cover all of his face again and leaning up on his elbows in a post-makeout haze.

“What’s the number? What’s the number?” the Batter hissed once he reached the elevator, panic dripping from his voice. He stilled.

 

Zacharie watched curiously, lifting a hand to feel the newly-formed bruises on his neck. “What’s the matter?”

 

The Batter’s eyes rolled back in his head. “Don’t look,” he whimpered before letting out a blood-curdling scream.

 

Zacharie instantly sobered, sitting up straight to take in what he was perceiving. The Batter’s shoulders fell forward and his spine grew, muscles rippling and contorting as his mass grew to over twice his normal size. His hulking chest dwarfed his human head, until his head began to grow, too; his eyes grew and his face distorted, lengthening and shortening and manipulating itself until a grotesque creature stared back at Zacharie. His agonized screams got deeper and more monstrous until it was nothing but a roar. His baseball cap seemed almost silly, so tiny against his huge crocodile head.

 

Huge fishbowl eyes locked onto Zacharie as he sat, frozen, unsure of what to do. White scales, long claws, long fangs gleamed under the last rays of the sun in a horrific, bastardized way. 

  
Zacharie swallowed a scream as he crawled backwards into a corner as far away from the Batter—no, this  _ monster _ —as possible. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as the creature straightened and reached its full height, absolutely dwarfing him in comparison. He approached Zacharie, making tears fall from his eyes out of pure fear. This was it, this was where he died, immediately after his first real makeout session, and immediately before losing his virginity, this was it, he had better start writing a will; Pablo gets nothing, Sucre gets his radio— 

 

The giant crocodile snout almost touched his mask, and Zacharie realized he was sniffing. Then, without warning, his lower jaw fell almost impossibly low, unhinged, and he roared even louder than before. He transformed back into the Batter, just in case Zacharie didn’t catch it the first time.

 

The Batter fell to the ground, breathing heavily and coughing. “I-I can explain,” he panted, sweat dripping from his temple.

 

“What the  _ fuck _ ,” exclaimed Zacharie, heart beating out of his chest, “was  _ that? _ ”

 

“I hope this doesn’t alter your perception of me too much,” started the Batter as he fell back to sit on the heels of his feet, “but sometimes, I turn into… that monster.”

 

“ _ What the fuck _ ,” whispered Zacharie. If he didn’t just see it happen with his own eyes, he’d never have believed it. 

 

“Most of the time, it’s at night, but it can happen at any time I’m under… stressful circumstances. I suppose that includes…” He didn’t finish the sentence, and instead moved onto a new one. “My control over it has improved over the years, but it’s impossible to suppress altogether.”

 

A long pause as both Zacharie and the Batter regained their breath. “Can you… control what you do when you… transform?” Zacharie asked tactfully.

 

The Batter shook his head. “It’s like watching myself from afar. I can see what’s happening, but I have no agency.” He stood, brushing his pants off before continuing, “I understand if you don’t want to pursue a relationship with me anymore—”

 

Against his better judgement, Zacharie cut him off, willing himself to stand despite his weak knees. “Of course I want to pursue a relationship with you. It’s just… a strange thing to get accustomed to.” He willed his voice to stay calm and his stomach to stay still despite the torrent of  _ what the fuck _ rushing through his head.Why was he going along with this? Because the Batter was  _ attractive _ ? He really was too far gone.

 

The Batter smiled softly, the most gentle expression Zacharie had ever seen on his face. “Thank you.”

 

“Why are you… this way, if you don’t mind me asking?” Zacharie asked, pausing to try and formulate his question in the most respectful way.

 

The Batter’s smile dropped from his face, and his mouth pressed into a hard line. “Why do you wear your mask?”

 

Zacharie smirked. “Point taken.”

 

⭗⭗⭗

 

Their relationship was fairly chaste for about a week—gentle pecks and holding hands, nowhere too public. The Batter wasn’t a fan of PDA, and Zacharie didn’t mind. After a couple days, though, he let Zacharie hold his hand as they walked from class to class, and he grew less shy about clinging to him whenever he gave him a ride. 

 

Next Monday. News erupted on campus that Dr. Japhet, universally hated and feared theology professor, was murdered viciously, just like Coach Enoch and the two students. Theories proliferated—did the killer have a vendetta against the college? Was the killer even  _ human _ ? Were humans capable of that amount of pure carnage and disrespect for life?

 

As Zacharie sat down for class, he realized that Pablo was late, so he takes his seat for the time being to talk to the Batter. “Did you hear about the wicked professor?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Isn’t it weird? People at this school are dropping like flies,” mused Zacharie.

 

“I thought you hated him,” the Batter stated, eyebrows raising for a split second.

 

“I do—er,  _ did _ . What, are you happy he died?”

 

The Batter scoffed, looking away. “I’m certainly not bereaved.” His eyes darted down to the desk. “I’m sure Valerie’s thrilled, too.”

 

“Trust me, I didn’t like him either, but he was still  _ human _ , you know? Anyway, now I’m too scared to ride out at night,” mumbled Zacharie.

 

The Batter reached in his bag and pulled out a pen. “You have nothing to worry about.”

 

Zacharie chuckled. “What makes you say that? I’m not particularly strong or fast and I don’t have an abundance of friends, I’d be an easy target.” 

 

“I’ll protect you,” the Batter said simply.

 

“Such a romantic,” Zacharie said past a wide smile. 

 

⭗⭗⭗

 

The sounds of the dorm were as follows: the occasional rustle of Pablo turning a page, the clicking noise that Zacharie’s foot made on the linoleum as he jiggled his leg, the steady  _ thump, thump, thump _ of the Batter throwing a baseball at the wall and catching it, the quiet sounds of the radio playing in the very background, the chatter of people in the halls outside their door, the humming of the mini-fridge, the scratching sound of Zacharie’s pen on his worksheet, the slurping of coffee, and the occasional capping and uncapping of highlighters. A quiet afternoon in. The new normal. The Batter had integrated into their friend group seamlessly, as if they had been missing a crucial piece of a puzzle without even realizing it. It was nice.

 

Pablo broke the rhythm of sound, sitting straight up and closing his textbook with a loud  _ thump _ . “I require sustenance. Do you two want anything from the food court while I’m there?”

 

The Batter shook his head no, and Zacharie handed him a dollar and told him to bring back a Monster. He nodded and left, closing the door quietly behind himself.

 

Thirty seconds after Pablo left, the Batter sat up and turned toward Zacharie. “I have a confession to make,” he said, with uncharacteristic sincerity in his voice.

 

Zacharie moved his binder off of his lap and faced his… boyfriend? Lover? Partner? “Let me guess, you’re pregnant?”

 

The Batter rolled his eyes. “No, I’m serious. You know how I have absolutely no control over myself when I transform?”

 

Zacharie nodded hesitantly. A bad feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.

 

“The murders on campus… it’s me. I’m the killer.”

 

A dense silence hung in the air like smoke. Zacharie felt his breath clog in his throat. The batter, his friend, his boyfriend, his partner, his lover, was a murderer. A  _ murderer _ . Was he being blinded by love? Was this whirlwind romance a mistake? Was he an accomplice?

 

“I know, I know. I needed to tell you. I feel horrible. I can’t control it,” he sighed, hanging his head in his hands. “You can oust me if you need to—”

 

Zacharie cut him off. “Let me think about this for a minute, okay?” A million thoughts ran through his head. He should definitely break up with him, right? Definitely. He should, he should, but he had really fallen for him in the past few weeks. He was strong, stoic, with huge walls, but he was also unexpectedly sweet at times, and he loved the intimacy. Not necessarily physical intimacy—they hadn’t explored that aspect much past their first kiss—but the emotional and psychological intimacy was something that Zacharie definitely needed. Having never had a partner before, it was a part of being in a relationship that Zacharie hadn’t expected, but had certainly cherished.

 

Maybe he could stay with him..

 

Maybe he could control him. Like babysitting, but with substantially more murder.

 

It didn’t matter. His decision on the matter didn’t matter. The Batter wasn’t able to stop killing anybody, anyway, so his choice  _ didn’t matter _ . Zacharie’s nihilism spoke up from the back of his mind, urging him that he was going to die anyways, so it didn’t really matter what he did or didn’t do with his life. Time would keep marching on, even if Zacharie continued to kiss a serial murderer. And he had managed to fall in love with said serial murderer, so why try to stop it?

 

Class without Japhet was better. Maybe… maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing. He could purge the corrupt teachers, and make the school a better place. Make things better. Make life better. He had certainly made Zacharie’s life better.

 

Blinded by love and on an impulse, Zacharie said, “I’m going to stay with you.”

 

“Really?” The Batter’s voice was tinged with disbelief.

 

“Yeah. This is a horrible decision, but, yeah.” Zacharie stood from his chair and sat on the bed next to the Batter, chuckling under his breath. “Maybe next you can kill Dedan?”   
  
The Batter smirked and picked him up with incredible strength and pulled him into his lap, immediately devouring his neck with an animalistic ferocity. Zacharie purred with pleasure, rocking against him eagerly and encouraging him as he licked and kissed all over his décolletage. “Impatient, are we?”

 

“You have no idea,” the Batter growled, sucking hickeys into his jugular that would definitely leave a dark purple bruise on his olive skin.

 

“Perhaps I should return later?” the voice of Pablo rang from the doorway.

 

Zacharie fell off the Batter’s lap and onto the hard floor, grateful that his mask hid his blush. “ _ L-Lo siento _ , friend,” he stuttered, re-adjusting the mask.

 

Pablo threw the Monster into Zacharie’s lap as he flopped down on his own bed, flipping around in his textbook and opening a Chinese takeout box. “Next time, please fornicate in the Batter’s room when you know I’m going to be in our room. It’s just courtesy.”

 

⭗⭗⭗

 

Wednesday, class with Dedan. Zacharie halfheartedly complained about the guy who sat behind him. The next day, news surfaced that he had disappeared. Zacharie found it oddly charming the lengths that the Batter was willing to go for him.

 

Merely a half an hour before Zacharie found that out, he and the Batter were in his dorm, since Pablo had left for a study group. One huge plus of knowing the Batter’s secret was that their sex life had improved significantly—nowadays, it felt like Zacharie spent more time kissing him than not. Anywhere and everywhere: in the boy’s bathroom handicap stall, in empty classrooms, in dorm room closets, under the bleachers at the baseball diamond… the list went on and on. They had become more open about public displays of affection, and this date of sorts was no exception; within five minutes of entering his dorm room, the Batter had already thrown Zacharie’s shirt off and attached his teeth to the skin there.

 

He nipped particularly hard and Zacharie gasped, his back arching and his toes curling reflexively. “F-Fuck, if you aren’t careful, you’re going to draw blood, Batter,” he whined, his fists grasping at the sheets above his head.

 

The Batter’s eyes rose to meet Zacharie’s as he bit harder, definitely drawing blood and making Zacharie see stars. Zacharie loved how brutal and rough the Batter was in bed; the pain made him feel alive in a way no sunset ever could. 

 

Afterwards, the Batter fell back onto the bed next to Zacharie, opening his arms so Zacharie could nestle in the space between his chest and his forearm. The coldness of his body was still startling to Zacharie at first, but he had learned to like it. His arm closed around him, and he couldn’t help but sigh contentedly, still awash with a post-orgasmic fuzziness. The Batter’s fingers ran through Zacharie’s hair, tugging just a little too hard. Zacharie could hear his pulse through his ear pressed to his ribcage, and the steady beating like a metronome almost made him fall asleep. He could even feel his own pulse throbbing in the bruises that were still developing all over his neck, torso, and thighs.

 

“Your old partner for the project, she was one of your victims as the Bad Batter?” he asked, suddenly remembering her death. The Bad Batter was their nickname for his monstrous form, a silly, childlike joke Zacharie made that stuck.

 

The Batter nodded stoically.

 

“Why’d you kill her? She wasn’t ‘guilty’ like the others,” Zacharie asked plainly, emphasizing the word guilty. 

 

“To be completely transparent, she was annoying. And I wanted to be your partner instead,” the Batter mumbled, tightening his grip around Zacharie’s lower back and in his hair.

 

“Awwh, you had a crush on me,” Zacharie laughed, completely encompassed by the feeling of affection that grew in his chest. He wondered when murder became endearing. “Let’s listen to some music, hm?” He kissed his lover’s neck lazily and stood up, stretching and walking over to the radio. He turned it on, just loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to be distracting, and crawled back into bed. The songs blended into each other as they simply laid together, the Batter’s arms completely encircling Zacharie and making him feel safe. Safe shouldn’t be the word Zacharie felt described him when curled up in the arms of a literal serial killer, but life was weird like that, wasn’t it?

 

After the stream of songs fizzled out, the voice of the host came over the speaker.  _ “Last night, the body of another student was found on campus, this time in lake Alma, completely eviscerated like the other three. We have the dean of student safety, miss Vader Eloha, here to talk to us about how to stay safe on campus. Ms. Eloha,”  _ the host said, and the Batter angled Zacharie’s chin up to capture his mouth with his own.

 

“Can I?” whispered the Batter, his fingers playing with the bottom of the mask.

 

Zacharie nodded without hesitation, and the familiar feeling of the mask resting on his face was ripped away. His breath hitched as he felt the Batter looking at him, keeping his eyes closed. Completely trusting. Completely vulnerable. He started to squirm uncomfortably, sensing the Batter’s critical eyes on him, beginning to regret his decision.  _ He thinks he’s ugly, doesn’t he? He thinks he’s disgusting and damaged like everyone else, like him. It was too much too fast, he shouldn’t have let him seen his bare face, he must’ve hated all the burn scars, he had never trusted anyone like that before except for Pablo and Sucre, now he was going to break up with him and he didn’t know if he could handle that— _

 

“Perfect,” the Batter mumbled as cold lips pressed against hot skin, making Zacharie shudder.

 

“What?” Zacharie whispered, unbelieving.

 

His lips touched another scar. “Perfect.”

 

Zacharie felt a pang of arousal snake down his spine and he shivered in anticipation. “P-Please,” he stuttered, breath catching in his throat.

 

“Perfect, perfect, perfect,” the Batter repeated, mouth wandering over all of his scars, not just those on his face, but on his chest, his back, the burns on his arms that the tattoos couldn’t quite cover. Zacharie felt his hips buck down into the Batter and he whimpered, suddenly  _ very  _ excited.

 

“Pure,” the Batter mouthed against his skin, hands roughly grabbing Zacharie’s hips and forcing him down upon his lap. Zacharie gasped and bit his lip hard. 

 

As this was happening, Zacharie could hear the radio in the back of his head.  _ “We haven’t been able to discern if the killer is human or animal...” _

 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” Zacharie cried, eyes still screwed shut.

 

_ “...so we advise staying inside your dorm after sundown and locking your doors...” _

 

“Pure,” the Batter whispered into Zacharie’s ear before biting down hard.

 

_ “...we don’t know of a motive, only the vicious modus operandi...” _

 

“Fuck,” moaned Zacharie.

 

_ “...absolutely brutal evisceration...” _

 

The Batter growled deep in his throat, and for a second, Zacharie was terrified that he would turn into the Bad Batter. He was ashamed to feel that that only heightened his arousal, as did the vivid explanation of the Batter’s murders playing into his ear—eventually he’d feel even worse about what turned him on in the moment, but holy  _ shit _ Batter was doing that  _ thing  _ with his tongue on his neck and he  _ definitely  _ had more important things to worry about right now and this  _ literal murderer _ was holding his hips so hard he knew there would be bruises on top of the bruises from earlier and knowing that at any moment he could turn into a horrible murderous monster and  _ ah, fuck _ —

 

The Batter exhaled with a shaky breath, and Zacharie collapsed next to him, too lazy to clean up. Without thinking, and purely on impulse, Zacharie whispered, “I love you.”

 

Holy shit.

 

Did he actually just...?

 

He was already half-asleep, and he didn’t register if the Batter responded or not.

 

_ “...we will find the culprit, I promise.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boyyyyy
> 
> The last chapter may take a little longer than this one just because it's going to be the longest and the most complicated, so please be patient!
> 
> If you enjoyed, please leave a comment!! Reading nice comments makes my day and inspires me to write.

**Author's Note:**

> If you read/liked this, please leave a kudos and especially leave a comment! Small/dead fandoms like this are hard, but I really do appreciate comments and they inspire me to write. Thank you! <3


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